


Deanie-weenies

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is injured on a hunt and Sam makes him a special lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deanie-weenies

 

            Two of Dean’s ribs were broken, three cracked and he was covered almost head to toe in bruises, on top of being heavily concussed. The deep, seven inch gash that curved down over Dean’s shoulder and ended somewhere around his mid back was nothing to laugh at and Sam may or may not have been in the process of freaking out.

            Dean had lost a lot of blood, enough blood that Sam was seriously losing his shit, and was making uncouth comments while Sam tried frantically to stitch up the rent in his brother’s back.

            “Hey Sammy, they don’t call me ‘Bones’ because I’m a doctor.” Dean’s pained grin was almost infectious. Almost.

            “You’re an idiot, do you fucking realize that?” Sam’s fingers we’re heavily slicked with blood by this point, the cut stitched closed with neat, precise lines. Dean laughed, the sound husky and low and muffled in the crook of his elbow.

            “Why do I even bother? Seriously, if you’re gonna be a spectacular ass-hat about literally everything, I don’t see why I should be the one to have to mop up your stupid ass.” Sam’s eyebrows were drawn with concentration, his tongue caught between his teeth as he cleaned the scarlet from Dean’s back with a warm towel.

            Dean tossed him an easy grin over his purpling shoulder “’Cause ya love me.” Dean slurred smugly, eyes half lidded and hazy with pain. “How unfortunate for me.” Sam muttered irritably, wiping down Dean’s back with a wash cloth soaked in alcohol. Dean sucked in a hard breath through his teeth, his muscle going taut under Sam’s hands.

            Sam’s hands were warm and steady against Dean’s fevered skin and they anchored Dean as Sam cleaned out the worst of his injuries. “I hope you-” a pained cough interrupted Dean’s poorly placed pick-up line, blood staining Dean’s teeth a watery red “you know CPR, ‘cause you take my breath away.”

            “I will end you.” Sam promised, voice low and menacing, the blood cleaned from Dean’s back. Dean laughed again, rough and so familiar that a smile tugged at Sam’s lips for the first time in hours.

            Brusquely, and with no small amount of vindictiveness, now that he knows his brother is going to live, Sam plops the frozen peas onto Dean’s bruising skin, avoiding the gash. “ _Oh-ho-ho, you rat bastard_.” Dean breathes out, half laughing and half moaning with pain.

            Sam smirks and helps Dean onto his side, patiently pouring roughly half a bottle of Jack down Dean’s throat to help with the pain. Seconds after he’s finished, Dean’s out, and Sam tucks him in gently before flopping back into his chair by Dean’s bedside and readying himself for weeks of being Dean’s bitch.

            It had been three week since the wendigo had tossed his brother around like a sack of potatoes and Dean’s breathing had leveled out a bit. Wet, pained gasps had given way to labored pants whenever Dean moved too quickly. And the occasional muted gasp of pain had given way to full on bitching, about anything and everything, from the food to room temperature.

            Which Dean did often, because the God-damned idiot had no sense of self preservation and would hobble determinedly around the crap motel room they shared every time Sam took his eyes off the spectacular dumb-ass he happened to share DNA with.

            “Where ya think you’re goin’, string-bean?” Dean called out from his spot on the bed when Sam went to leave. “To the store you, princess.” Sam replied easily, shucking on his coat and grabbing up the Impala’s keys discreetly.

            “Think you can manage to stay alive long enough for that?” Sam called back snippily, already to the door. Dean fluttered his eye lashes, lying on his back to keep the strain off his ribs “Well ah just don’ know.” He crooned breathily, flicking idly through the t.v channels.

            Sam left with a snort, making an obscene gesture in Dean’s general direction and locking the door behind him. Twenty minutes later he was back in the crap hotel room they’d shared for weeks, alone in the tiny kitchen, making Dean his first actual meal in weeks. He’d been on a diet of soups and water and had bitched every freakin’ second about it.

            So, Sam was making him hot dogs. More specifically, he was making him Deanie-weenies. Which are so vastly different from hot dogs and at least six times as special. Sam didn’t make them often, only when Dean was sick or had managed to get himself good and truly mauled.

            Like now for instance. Dean was still wounded, although to a lesser extent than he had been, and would get Deanie-weenies for his pain and suffering. He just didn’t know it yet. Sam smiled to himself as he cooked.

            Deanie-weenies were more or less just chili-dogs, but Sam had taken extras step and added liberal amounts of cheese to the chili, sautéing onions and bell peppers in a pan to sprinkle over the tops and adding liberal amounts of relish over the artery clogging cluster-fuck. Dean was going to be ecstatic.

            “Sam?” Dean barked out, a tightly controlled note of excitement hidden in the words “You makin’ Deanie-weenies?” The sudden laughter answers his question and he can’t help the wide, excited grin that spreads over his face.

            When Sam comes around the corner, out of the shitty kitchen the crap hotel room was equipped with, Dean sits up quickly, completely disregarding the pain it causes, and almost bouncing in place with excitement. “Aww yeah, I fuckin’ love Deanie-weenies.” He whoops gleefully, making grabby hands at the hot-dog laden tray Sam’s holding.

            “Really?” Sam asks sarcastically “I had no idea.” Sam’s heart is doing something painful and wonderful in his chest, the unabashed happiness on Dean’s bruised face pulling a wide, heartfelt smile out of him.

             “Give ‘em here Sammy.” Dean commanded, still making grabby hands, eyes locked on the hot-dogs and the ice cold beer next to it. “Thank you Sam,” Sam grumbles sardonically, settling the tray over Dean’s lap “for all the hard work you’ve put into taking care of me, and cooking for me.” Sam pulls the blanket down Dean’s lap so he can’t dribble chili on it. “And bathing me.” Sam adds with a dramatized shudder.

           Dean doesn’t reply, largely because his mouth is stuffed with half a Deanie-weenie, and instead flips him the bird with the hand not clutching half a hotdog. Sam laughs, loud and long, his entire face lighting up with it, and leans in to steal a quick kiss in between Dean’s monstrous bites.

           The swipe Dean takes at him is worth it, because despite the swing he’s grinning, eyes ablaze with affection and his lips curled up just right, even though their smudged with chili. Giving him a patronizing look, he reaches down to wipe the smudge away with his thumb, the quick, almost shy brush of lips against the pad of it enough to set his stomach aflutter.

           “Jerk.” Sam offers, still smiling, standing by the bed uncertainly.

           “Bitch.” Dean agrees, his entire face lit with happiness. When Sam doesn’t sit immediately, Dean jerks him down to sit next to him, his side pressed against the length of Sam’s, their knees overlapping. Between the two of them, they manage to eat enough Deanie-weenies to feed a small army.

            Or two Winchesters. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous. I'm sorry.


End file.
